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My head snaps to the side, expecting to find whoever trapped me in class. He put his hand on my face. He suffocated me. He…wanted to kill me.
Oh, God.
All I remember is a blurry black silhouette as he walked away, but I would know him if I saw him.
He’s engraved in my subconscious like an enormous crow, a larger-than-life Grim Reaper.
My breathing comes down a notch when I make out the driver’s face.
Asher.
He drives with one hand on the wheel, his attention on the road.
It’s mind-boggling how much his presence calms me down. This shouldn’t be, right? Asher isn’t my safe space.
He can’t be.
I stare down at my jeans and camisole. They look intact. I should be fine…right?
Tingles push to my nose and pressure builds behind my eyes, but I hold in the tears…the humiliation, the pain.
When the hell will I stop my life from getting away from me? It just keeps slipping from between my fingers like water.
Realizing I’m awake, Asher throws a glance my way, or more like a stare. He has this thing about digging into my soul with those forest green eyes. It’s like he’s dissecting my insides and dancing on the remains.
He smoothly focuses back on the road. “What happened?”
“What am I doing here, Ash?”
He grinds his teeth. “It’s Asher. And answer my question.”
“Answer mine first.”
He gives me a fleeting glance. “I picked you up.”
I picked you up.
He makes it sound so easy, as if I wasn’t dying in there.
“What happened, Reina?” he repeats in a less patient tone.
“I went to class and…” My fight with tears turns intense. I can feel myself losing to the pull. “Someone trapped me. I…I…”
“You fainted?” he finished for me.
I shake my head. That’s not what happened. I had a flashback, but none of it makes sense now. It’s like an old, fuzzy, gray movie with white and black dots.
“You found me?” I peek at him through my wet eyelashes. There’s a sick type of gratefulness for this man whirling inside me.
A shiver runs down my spine at the thought of what could’ve happened.
Asher is a jerk, but he’s a jerk who saved me.
“Lucy called me,” he says with ease. “You’re not important enough for me to notice your absence.”
I pause my imaginary thank-you dance, and my fingers twitch for something stabby—preferably a knife straight to his throat.
Why the hell does he have to ruin my image of him? Every time I get close, he becomes an asshole and ruins it.
